


101 Ways to shut Granger up

by ajoy3



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:03:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28441350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajoy3/pseuds/ajoy3
Summary: The first time Draco Malfoy had thought about the proper way to shut Hermione granger up had been on the train, sitting with Astoria Greengrass no less.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 24
Kudos: 128





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Draco Malfoy had thought about the proper way to shut Hermione granger up had been on the train, sitting with Astoria Greengrass no less.

Third Year

Astoria Greengrass was a bore.

She babbled about any little thought that came into her mind, without care to filter first. Was it earrings now? Was that what the bird was on about? Draco swore a second ago they were discussing dragonhide shoes. No, she was discussing dragonhide shoes. He was just the unfortunate audience to it.

‘Be nice to her’ his mother had asked, the hard look in her eye betraying her sweet voice. ‘Show her what a gentleman you are.’

‘The Greengrass’ are an important connection.’ His father drawled, placing his hand on Draco's shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“I don’t see why. She’s a twit.” Draco scanned the room, looking for anything else to let his eyes land on. When he defied his father, spoke up in any way, he found it difficult to maintain eye contact. His father's hand squeezed harder, drawing his attention back to the calm features of Lucius Malfoy's face.

“They’re an important connection. It’s crucial they come to our side.” His words were tight, a smirk lifting the corner of his right lips. It was etched in deeply, like a man who was accustomed to getting his way. “If a Greengrass marriage is what it takes, then it is a small price. Astoria is a worthy candidate to be the future Mrs.Malfoy. You must show her why she wants it.”

“I’ll try father.”

He really, really did. But bloody hell, talking to Astoria was like watching paint dry. She kept the topics light, kept her volume appropriate, and the conversation flowing. Draco was sure that if he closed his eyes, he would find himself in his mother’s tea room, surrounded by 3 or 4 society ladies. Astoria did enough talking for 5. Didn’t the witch need to breathe? Wasn’t her jaw tired? How could one person have so much nonsense rattling around in their head? No one on the planet talked this much.  
Well, maybe granger. That witch never kept quiet.

But, at least Granger had important things to say. Interesting things, Draco thought begrudgingly. When she opened her mouth, it was to spew out substance and facts, on topic, useful bits of knowledge. While Astoria regurgitated the juicy gossip Columns, granger was as dry as a research paper. Opposite ends of a headache, in his opinion.  
As if his thoughts could conjure her, she appeared, bushy hair crowding the space around her as she neared his compartment door, then opened it without hesitation. She stuck her head in, chestnut curls bouncing as they swayed, the train moving ever forward.

“Has Luna come this way?” She asked, eyes searching the cabin quickly. Astoria frowned instantly at the sight of granger, and for the first time all morning, he found something they agreed in.

“No,” he spat, mouth turned down. Granger clutched a book close to her chest. She wasn’t in her robes yet, still casual in her muggle sweater and jeans. She looked relaxed in comparison to the prim and proper girl at his side. 

“As if we have any business with Loony Lovegood.” Astoria finished for him, eyes narrowed in distaste. Draco nodded in agreement. 

“Don’t call her that.” Granger’s stance instantly shifted into one of defense. “She isn’t loony. She’s… unique.” 

“Is unique a synonym for weird now?” He asked, glad to have an audience for his jokes. Granger rolled her eyes and turned to leave when Draco caught sight of the spine of her book. 

“Wait!” He practically jumped from the seat to stop her, the outburst starting Astoria, but thankfully halting Granger in her tracks. She turned back to look at him, a thousand questions written on her face. “Is that the new book? Jack Septons new novel?” 

She looked down at the book in her hands, then back to him skeptically, as if confirming before she spoke. “Yes.” That was all she said in response. Like he was the mad one. 

“How did you get that?” He asked, “The presale hasn’t even been scheduled. There's been no release for it yet- How-?”

Granger was expressive, he realized. Her eyes, deep brown, widened in surprise at his assault. “Oh- Septon, he heard Harry was a fan of the series and sent him a copy. Harry finished it over the summer and sent it to me. That's why I’m looking for Luna, actually-”

Typical. Saint Potter getting whatever he wanted. Granger turned to walk away, eager to find Lovegood and deliver the book.

“Did he escape?” Draco asked, unable to restrain his curiosity. “Or was he forgiven?”

At this, Granger turned back and stood in the door frame, cocking her head in an annoying way. “You want me to spoil the plot for you?” 

Rolling his blue eyes he let out an exasperated sigh. “Not the entire thing, just that bit.”

“You really want to know?” 

“Obviously,” He drawled, sounding more like Lucious than he intended. “That's why I asked, Granger.” 

“Fine, if you really are that impatient, and you enjoy spoiling your own amusement-”

“Sometime this year, Granger.”

“He was forgiven. I won’t go into detail, but this new book is a totally different arc for the characters.”

Draco scowled, “But that's the entire story! The entire thing is built on him running away!” He scoffed before continuing. “I don't think I even want to read it now. What rubbish.” This confession seemed to stir something in Granger. 

“What do you mean rubbish? This was exactly where the story was headed!”

“In what way? He had no other option but to run. He committed crimes, Granger. Real, horrible crimes. He-”

“And he paid for those!” She was heated, pushing her way into the compartment so a first-year could walk by. Draco dismissed her nonsense with a wave of his hands. “He was primed for redemption. The entire series-”

Astoria turned to him, framing her body against his. “Draco, this is terribly boring.” She leaned in, rather unexpectedly, and pressed her lips against his. The shock of it gave her leeway to stick her tongue inside, and Draco couldn’t help but notice the immediate quiet in the compartment. Dragging his eyes up towards Granger, he saw that her mouth had snapped shut before she promptly turned to leave.

‘That's all it takes? A kiss will shut Granger up?’

The thought rattled through his mind as his hands snaked up Astoria Greengrass’ side.

~.~

Was there ever a time that Granger didn’t know an answer to a question? Ever a moment that her hand didn’t raise in the air, a bit of knowledge ready on her lips? It seemed different than before, he had to admit. Before she had been bursting at the seams to prove to everyone what she knew, but now she looked about the room, giving others an opportunity to answer first. Not all the time, of course, but Draco was aware of the effort. 

She was smart, there was no denying that. The witch was top of their class every year without fail, Draco trailing behind in second place. It was infuriating to know that she had waltzed into his world, a muggle, a mudblood, and risen to the top. Shouldn’t she have been behind? Shouldn’t she need time to catch up? What should have been rightfully his, she took without care.  
And because she was smart, she was in all of his classes. They were forced to spend their days together, no thanks to their schedules. Suffice to say, he walked to the dungeons each night with a pounding headache, the sound of Granger ringing in his ears. 

He’d crawl under his covers, bone-weary from Quidditch practice, exhausted from a day of studies and friends, still hearing the sound of her voice. Repeating everything she said, not just the academics, but the small bits of conversation he picked up along the way. Her laughter, the soft sounds she made when she yawned.  
He wished she would shut the hell up and give him some rest.

As he drifted off to sleep, he thought of the kiss on the train, with Granger. 

~.~

Fourth Year

Every time Granger opened her mouth, Draco Malfoy was tempted to take the nearest witch by his side into his arms. That wasn’t to say that it was entirely her fault. He was a young man, in the prime of his youth, and to be more than fair, the skirts seemed to get shorter every day. But whenever Granger began to go off about some nonsense, the idea of shocking her into a submissive silence ran wild through his mind. Despite his parent's wishes, Astoria was as bearable as a toothache, so seeking her out was not an option. Pansy however…  
Pansy was attractive- sexy, even. Wellbred, old money. Pure blooded, and clearly interested. She clung to him, hung off his arm like she had been doing it all her life, and at times, he enjoyed it. Especially enjoyed it, when Granger came into his sights.

She was sitting alone on a small bench on the pitch, nose deep in a book. Granger was oblivious to the practice around her, or the Slytherins impatiently awaiting their turn. Wizards rushed by on brooms, the wind whipping her hair with them, but she was unperturbed. Simply tucked her wayward curls behind her ear, focus entrenched on the pages, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she read. 

A disgusting habit, to chew one's own lips. His mother would have a fit if he were to fidget in such an unseemly way. Yet for the life of him, Draco could not tear his eyes away. She had full lips, he realized. A well-defined cupid's bow that made them appear pouty. A shade of light pink, almost coral; He wondered if they darkened after that assault she was putting them through. Even as her teeth sunk down, pulling idly at her lip they still seemed plump. Soft, even. 

Pansy shifted at his side, anchoring him back to reality. “Didn’t their practice end already?” She pouted. 

“You know Gryffindors,” Draco eyed Granger. “The rules just don’t apply to them.” 

Pansy grabbed his sleeve and dragged him forward towards the Gryffindor in question. The rest of the team followed behind, Pansy clearly the captain on the battlefield. Part of his brain screamed to stop her, but the other half was dying to get closer. Draco didn’t have enough time to process the confusion. Suddenly he was hovering over a mountain of chestnut curls. The intrusion caused her to look up, and Draco wondered when the last time he was this close to her. Granger's eyes shifted between the two, defensive. “What?” She asked.

“Move,” Pansy demanded. “It’s Slytherins turn to practice. You’re taking up the entire bench with that bush you call hair and books. Make room. Our team needs this space.” 

Granger's lips curved into a sarcastic smile, and once again his attention was drawn to them. “I didn’t realize you were part of the team, Parkinson.”

She wrinkled her nose, as if the very smell of Granger was unpleasant, “I don’t want to ruin my shoes.” Draco followed suit, but all he could smell was something floral.  
Granger rolled her eyes in response, piling her stack of books into her bag, clearing space. “There's plenty of room here.”

Draco didn’t care much about the standoff between the two but needed to re-tie his laces before practice. Taking a seat on the side of Granger, he was surprised to find his lap filled with the slim body of his self-declared girlfriend.

Draco was not the biggest fan of public touching. Being used as a seat for Pansy Parkinson felt even more distasteful. Pansy threaded her fingers through his hair as she placed small kisses on his cheek. She was nothing if not But the way Granger scrunched up her face and leaned far back, it seemed worth it. 

“Do you mind?!” She seethed. “There is such a thing as public decency!” 

“Mione!” Potter called from the center of the field. “We’re heading back!” 

“Not a second too soon!” She huffed, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she stormed away.

A kiss makes Granger shut up. He thought smugly.

The taste of victory soured as soon as he saw McLaggen walking beside her, shoulder to shoulder and all smiles.’

~.~

It was hard enough to spend his days with her, but his nights were beginning to haunt him too. In his fantasies they were arguing, her face red from anger, body close as she told him off. He would crowd her, sometimes against a wall, sometimes a desk, but it always resulted in him gathering her close in his arms, mouth crashing down hard on hers.

~.~

The moment Draco knew that Durmstrang was coming to Hogwarts the very air felt different, charged. Finally, there would be wizards of his caliber in the disgrace they dared to call a school. He had dreamed of attending Durmstrang, and seeing the group sail in, proud and strong, made him wonder about a different life. Would he be a different person, had his mother let him travel further? Would his days in school be easier, less complicated if all he had to worry about were normal classmates?

At least the spotlight would be taken off of Saint Potter. He wondered how he would react, no longer the center of attention. Even better, Viktor Krum would be attending. They could fly circles together around the golden trio and show them true talent. What real breeding looked like in a wizard. 

He was there, of course, to greet Krum and the rest of Durmstrang after their initial entrance. Eager to welcome the band of wizards he felt a kinship with, if for no other reason but status. And while they shook hands and all eyes were on Krum, Draco couldn’t help but notice that his sights were fixed on the back wall. Draco drew his brows together, trying to make out what had captured his attention.

All he saw was Hermione Granger, back to the cobblestone, nose buried in a book. His eyes flit between the two, and without knowing why, he felt a pit in his stomach. 

~.~

He dreamed of her again, back on the pitch. But instead of Pansy in his lap, Granger was seated, her weight pleasant and warm. She didn’t rush as Pansy did, do it all for show. She was slow in her movements, small hands resting on his shoulders, tracing up his chest. She bit her lip again, eyes heavy-lidded, looking at him, hungry. He held her chin, pulling on her bottom lip to make her release it.

“Draco,” it came out in a whimper.

He leaned in, effectively cutting her off, tongue tangling with hers. 

He woke up sweaty and sticky, twisted in his bedsheets. But most of all, disappointed.

~.~

It was hard not to think about it. About her. Hard to ignore, when she was constantly filling his space with her floral scent and laughter. 

Harder to ignore her still, when she twisted her curls during the history of magic, distracting him to the point that the notes he took were not even legible. The damned witch was distracting. As if on cue, it played over in his head, ‘A kiss to make Granger shut up. Kiss Granger to make her shut up.’

~.~

Hermione Granger was everywhere. In his classes, in the halls. On the pitch at practice, on the grounds outside. Mostly, he found her in the library, in the same seat towards the back, stack of books towering over her. Oddly enough, Viktor Krum seemed to trail behind her like an unwanted shadow.

Maybe not unwanted. She certainly didn’t seem to mind having Krum tag along. Everyone knew there was a rift between her and Weasley, but Krum had filled that void in record time. Did she always need someone with her? Did the witch not know how to be alone? 

There wasn’t a place in all of Hogwarts he could find peace from her. From them. Even as he scoured the shelves for his potions books, he could see them both from the corner of his eyes. Sitting together- close, too close. 

Draco had the constant urge to trip him. It had to be seeing such a pureblood wizard-like Krum waste his time and praise on someone like Granger. 

At least that's what Draco told anyone who asked. Even those who didn’t. 

~.~

Something seemed different about her. Draco couldn’t place exactly what it was, but when he thought of her at night, hand busy at work beneath the sheets, her curves seemed softer, rounder. He came before he could even push her thighs apart. 

~.~

Begrudgingly, he would admit she was attractive- somewhat attractive. But he wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it out loud.  
Wouldn’t hear of anyone else saying it either. The minute he heard someone talk about how Granger seemed to fill out her sweater nicely, or that her legs were shaped just right he was quick to remind them that she was a mudblood. 

He couldn’t stand it when they talked about her. It was happening more and more. It left him feeling anxious and unsettled.

~.~

Watching them walk together in the halls irritated him. Watching her crane her neck back so she could get a better look had him biting his cheek. Someone needed to pull them apart. Krum was embarrassing himself.

“Crab, Goyle.” He called, watching the pair walk by. “I want to find out how Krum does that move- the Faint. Go and find out what you can.” 

He could do it himself, take the burden on. Physically pry Krum away from her, send him off into the arms of Pansy or Daphne. Anyone, really. Maybe he would fancy Weasley; they could discuss Quidditch. He honestly didn’t care. All that mattered was that there was an ocean between the two. In his mind’s eye, he saw him grabbing Hermione by the wrist, pulling her down the opposite direction. 

“He’s an oaf.” He would tell her. “How can you fawn over someone like Krum?”

She would protest, of course. Probably spew some nonsense like ‘You don’t know him,’ or, ‘he’s not like that.’ She was prone to finding the good in people.

Of course, he would kiss her. Feel the fight drain from her body as she melted into him, arms snaking around his waist. She would be hungry for him, and he would take it all. Anything to make her get Krum’s name out of her mouth.

How did it always turn to that? 

Unlikely that it could happen. Unlikely he would do it.

Granger frowned as soon as the two Slytherins made their way over, nodding to Krum as she took her leave. 

Finally, he felt better.

~.~

It was just a fascination. A sick one, no doubt, but just a passing interest. 

That's what he told himself as he kissed along the column of Pansy’s neck, thinking of olive skin. 

~.~

The ball was a sick glimpse into his future. Boring, formal. Pointless.

Yes, the room was decorated beautifully, and every witch and wizard was dressed in their best. The elves had laid out a beautiful feast and everyone seemed to be in high spirits, but for 

Draco, it was all tedious. This was every event his parents threw at the manner. Every party he had ever been forced to attend, eligible young witches who had not already been promised to wait their turn to dance. The only difference now was that the ball consisted of purely his generation. How many of these faces would he see someday at the manor? Would it be Astoria at his side, like his father kept insisting? Would Pansy cling to his arm in the future, just as she was now? Is that what he wanted?

~.~

There wasn’t much to say. She came down the stairs, looking more ethereal than human, and his mouth went dry. She took Krum's hand, and he balled his fists.

But just for that split second, it felt like she was walking to him.

~.~

When someone says the phrase ‘get a room’ it is generally implied that it is private. Not the damned Hogwarts library, where everyone had to witness the perverse show Krum and Granger seemed hellbent on giving to everyone. Sitting in the back, at her regular table, the mountain of books that typically accompanied her seemed lessened. Krum smirked, idly twisting a ringlet between his fingers. He leaned in, whispering something in her ear, and Granger actually blushed, fucking giggled, biting her bottom lip to keep it contained. She kept her eyes trained down as she continued to take notes, stealing glances his way.

It was infuriating. This was a public place for crying out loud. Couldn’t they take this sickening display somewhere else? He didn’t want to see Granger blush that way, with him. Didn’t want to see her look like she was begging to be kissed by fucking Krum-

His feet were moving before he knew it, headed straight towards their spot. As he strode by, intent to find a book on the shelf behind them, he made sure to hip check their table, disturbing their peace. When both pairs of eyes glared his way, he made sure to put on his best sneer. 

“Accident.” He feigned. 

“Vat did not zeem-.”

“No need to be so touchy.” Draco shrugged. He leaned closer to Hermione, voice barely a whisper. “Although I have to admit, it’s strange to think Granger would allow touching in the library. Pretty sure that breaks about 3 rules.” The scent of her floral shampoo overwhelmed him, and he had to remind himself to pull away before it seemed weird. Grabbing the closest book from the shelf, he turned on his heels, content to see the space between Krum and Granger had widened. 

~.~

Draco had never been so happy to see a ship sink to the bottom of the sea. He heard that Krum had asked her to visit over the summer. Draco was determined to put Hermione Granger out of his head.  
A trip back home was what he needed. Back to the manor, but to any measure of sanity. He needed space away to clear his mind.  
He wondered if he would see her on the train.


	2. Fifth Year~  Summer- January

_ Fifth Year - Summer _

~.~

For a long time, it wasn’t more than a few fantasies. Innocent, by most standards. A heated kiss, enough to keep her tongue occupied, always throwing her off-kilter. The times he dared to think about something more, he wouldn’t last. He needed it to be that way. He felt ashamed of thinking of a mudblood the way he did. Felt ashamed for thinking of a classmate who despised him panting into his mouth.

But as time wore on, the nights seemed longer, lonelier. Draco’s thoughts would race back at the manor, picking apart conversations, the expectations thrust on his shoulders. How many times did he toss and turn under the covers, lost in his own head? The only thing that seemed to take it away was  _ her. _ Desperate.

It was easier to deny his attraction at Hogwarts. It was rational to have her fill his mind back at school. She was at the top of their class. Always contributing, voicing her opinions. Best friends with Potter, who naturally caught attention, she was forced into the limelight with him. It made sense that she clouded his thoughts and judgment when they were so near each other.

It was different now. He had spent his summer back home at the manor, far from the influence of Hermione. And still, he couldn’t get her out of his head. Was she spending the summer at the Burrow? Cuddled up with Weasley, unsupervised from all the chaos in that shack? Was Weasley making moves while Draco took tea with his mother's friends? 

During the day he whipped up more scenarios than he could count, thinking of all the ways she could wind up at his doorstep, find her way to his bed. At night, alone with his thoughts, he would slide his hand under the covers, beneath the band of his briefs. He imagined the jerky movements of his hands belonged to her, and the thought alone was enough to have him moaning into his green silk pillows.

~.~ 

Once he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to have her, there was no turning back. The first time he had felt ashamed, guilty. He imagined it rough, fast-paced. An explosion of hatred and sexual tension, all colliding between her thighs. 

But it didn’t stay that way.

Draco became greedy. Became hungry to know what sounds she would make, how she would arch her back. Would she come with a scream or a gasp?

What would it be like if he moved his hands to her shoulders, slim and tanned? He would take his time, let his fingers run over her collarbone, stoke their way down lower, lower. He would tease her, play with the hem of her sweater before he slowly bunched it up, gathered the material in his hands, and lifted it over her head. Her curls would fall around her, wild. He liked them that way, missed seeing them so unruly. He would thread his fingers through those curls, knot a handful at the back of her head, exposing her neck. What he wouldn’t give to lick down that long column, taste the sweat on her skin, gently pulling the white straps of her bra down her arms. 

The more he looked at Granger, the more certain he was about her proportions. Large, but not overly so. He had imagined them so much he could practically feel their weight in his hands. He was sure they were firm, positive that once he freed her breasts he would uncover pink, perky nipples. 

He hadn’t even had a real taste, but he was addicted.

~.~

Summer felt fragile. It was wrapped in sunshine, sweets, and select company, but it felt like rot underneath. Draco knew the pressure was building; something was going to happen, he just wasn’t sure what. He waited for it every day, like a winding coil that would inevitably snap. It made him tense, anxious.

Draco tried to get out, stay active. The lush landscape of the property was easy to get lost in, easy to appreciate. When his new cleansweep arrived, he flew high above the grounds, testing its speed and precision, but it quickly lost its appeal. It was lonesome to fly alone. Isolated. Mostly, he spent his days tucked away in the library, lost in a mountain of books, finding company between the pages.

As he would sink into the leather seats, an old book in his hands, he wondered what Hermione would think of his library. If she would be impressed by the range of books, the ancient texts that were not even found at Hogwarts. 

Most of all, he wondered what she was doing with her days.

~.~

When Crabbe and Goyle owled for a visit, Draco had put it off for as long as possible. Draco was hesitant to name them friends, and despite their long history of summertime get-togethers, he always dreaded it. At school, Crabbe and Goyle acted as his lackeys- clung to his side because it made them feel powerful, important. It was nice to have an entourage, but that didn’t mean he wanted to vacation with them either. 

He had told his mother as much, but she simply remarked that it was rude to refuse a visit. When Draco tried to plead his case, reminding her that they were twists, she smiled sweetly. 

“Mr. Crabbe and Mr.Goyle are old friends. It would be unseemly to snub their sons.”

Draco groaned, “That’s how I ended up stuck with them in the first place, mother.” 

“We all make sacrifices for the greater good, dear.” 

The two traveled together, as they usually did. Draco wondered if one could survive without the other. They showed up bright and early, eager to share their arsenal of gossip. Draco had led them to the outside sitting area, counting down the minutes until it was socially acceptable for them to leave. 

“You heard that Potter keeps talking about him?” Goyle asked. “The loon keeps telling people he’s alive!”

Crabbe laughed, large cheeks puffing. “I’d like to see him get ahold of Potter, teach him a lesson or two!” 

Draco nodded, half-listening to what the two said. It was his default mode when it came to the duo. 

“Don’t know how he can show his face at school. Making such a damn spectacle! I’d drop out if I was him. ” Crabbe said, stuffing a cracker in his mouth.

“Granger wouldn’t let him.” Goyle offered. “Probably give him a spanking if he missed a class.” He laughed like he said something witty. Draco felt his muscles tense, felt the sneer snap into place. 

“Don’t talk about such vile things.” He leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms. 

“Come on now,” Goyle leaned back, crossing his arms as well. “Everyone knows Granger and Potter are together. Even Skeeter picked up on that.”

The rest of the visit passed by in a blur as Draco categorized all the new reasons he hated Harry Potter.

~.~

Draco had it on very good authority that Saint Potter was being questioned for use of unauthorized magic. It wasn’t enough to break every rule  _ in _ school, but apparently the boy who lived thought he was above the rules outside of the stone walls. Serves him right, after all the fuss he made at the end of the last term. 

He who must not be named back, indeed. 

Potter had not made it a secret that he thought a certain dark wizard was back from the dead. Draco was sure that it was another stunt, positive that Potter wanted the spotlight yet again. He was making up stories- had to be. 

Still, when he had returned home to the manor, he had reluctantly asked his mother if the whispers were true. She leveled him with a cold look and reminded him that well-bred gentlemen do not repeat rumors. 

~.~

The letter came at breakfast announcing that he was a prefect. His father gave only the smallest acknowledgment of the achievement, hardly looking up from his paper as Draco read the news out loud. 

It was expected that he would be a prefect. Never was a question, really; It would be unacceptable if there was any other outcome. His father reminded him once again how embarrassing it was to lose first place to that mudblood Granger. He took a sip of his tea as he mentioned that head boy was the next rank. 

Draco nodded, taking a small bite of his toast, a long silence following. 

“Any word on who your female counterpart will be?” His father asked, 

“Pansy,” Draco answered. “She owled yesterday.” 

“Hmm.” Luscious gracefully folded his paper, placing it down on the long table, finally giving Draco his full attention. “Curious that you did not receive news first. Hm?”

“Yes father.” 

“Probably Dumbledore trying to make an example of the Malfoy name.” He spat, “Trying to show the wizarding world that the Malfoys can wait.” 

Draco swallowed, unsure what to say. “Sounds like something the old bag would do. I’m sure Potter’s letter was the first to go out.”

Lucious smiled. “Thanks to Potter’s little stunt, he will not be made a prefect. He’s lucky to find himself still enrolled.” 

Finally, some justice in the universe. “Serves him right. Can’t imagine how he took that blow.”

“To be a fly on the wall.” Lucious picked up his teacup again but paused before he brought the china to lips. “Who else would be in the running?”

Draco thought for a moment, sifting through the possible Gryffindors. “Dean, maybe. Possibly Longbottom.” 

“No doubt Ms.Granger will be a prefect herself, will she not?”

“I’d think so. If anyone likes a rule more than her, I don’t fancy meeting them.” He sneered as if trying to imagine someone more uptight than Granger. “I’m sure she’ll be taking house points away in her sleep.”

It felt natural to talk about her, easy. Talking about Hermione made the conversation flow in a way it had not all morning. It was not lost on Lucious. 

“Well, you must put her to shame then, eh? Be the strictest prefect in the history of the school. Now is not a time to have loose morals. The school is already overrun with mudbloods. Even the half-bloods seem less… civilized… than before.”

“Yes, father.” He nodded, excusing himself shortly after. 

He spent the rest of the afternoon picturing what it would be like to be a prefect with Granger. There would be meetings- long, tedious meetings. They would patrol at the same times, maybe even have the same rounds. He would be subjected to hearing her take points and lecture all year long. The witch was hard to handle in the best of times. Now that she was to be given a small amount of power, he could only imagine what she would be like. How would he ever get her to shut up and get a moment's peace?

As he envisioned running into her on rounds, the two of them alone, he managed to think up a few ways. 

~.~

The next few days were spent in his room, imagination running wild. He dreamed up scenarios that would never happen, never be. Things that were against the very rules they were tasked to enforce. 

But what if he caught her in the halls one night? Found her alone, after curfew. Maybe she was checking up on the first years, making sure they were not stepping out of line. He’d find her in the dimly lit corridor, the torchlight glowing on her olive skin.

“I’ll have to dock house points.” He’d say.

She’d look at him defiantly, chocolate eyes burning into his. “You’re not allowed to take house points from another prefect, Malfoy.” She’d say.

He’d lean in, lips grazing her ear as he would whisper, “Maybe we can work something out?”

Merlin, he hoped they could work something out.

~.~

Draco had pinned his silver prefect badge to his robes bright and early, combed his hair back, and checked his reflection three times before he was satisfied. It was decidedly not to look good for her. That would be absurd. 

Stepping foot on the train again felt like a relief. He had never considered Hogwarts home- the manor had always treated him well- but the atmosphere felt less charged, a little more normal. 

Potter was finally getting the cold shoulder from the student body. It seemed like the crowd parted for him at the platform, everyone eager to put a wide berth between themselves and the person who called Voldermort by name. 

On the plus side, he caught his first glimpse of Granger in several months. It was quick, fleeting. At first, he only saw the back of her as she boarded the train, chestnut curls pinned back. Sweet. 

He had only passed her once after that, brushing shoulders as they moved in opposite directions down the aisle. Her brown eyes roamed his face quickly, and she nodded in acknowledgment as she squeezed to the side. He felt the knot in his stomach ease for the first time since he left. 

It was immediately replaced by a feeling of repulsion when he saw Weasley patrolling, a shiny silver badge pinned like his. Draco's mood was instantly soured.

~.~

Umbridge seemed to see right through Potter. It felt like a victory to finally have a teacher hold him accountable. Snape never hid his opinions on Potter, but he never delivered a punishment quiet as Umbridge did. 

She seemed to have a distaste for Granger too. Hermione seems less worried about herself, and more focused on Saint Potter. Every time Draco managed to steal a look her way, her brow was furrowed, her lip between her teeth again. 

On the one hand, he felt validated to have Umbridge on his side. On the other, he hated to see the way it affected the witch at his side. 

“You have to tell someone Harry.” He heard her whisper. Afraid, almost. If Hermione Granger could be afraid. 

He tried to ignore the pit in his stomach. She was probably being over-cautious, over dramatic. She tended to be that way when it came to Tweedledee and Tweedledum. But she kept looking at Potter with those pleading eyes, ripping his hand out of her grasp as he shoved his sleeves down.

Fear was a shade he didn’t like on her.

~.~

He couldn't even say she was as much of a know it all as she had been. She still was the first person to be called on and had an answer and opinion for everything, but it was less obnoxious than before. But then she would say something that would set off the duo at her sides, light the ignition to fire. She didn’t dominate the conversation, but sparked it. Weasley would get loud, Potter would draw attention. And she would be in the middle of it- meditating, trying not to laugh, placing her hand on their shoulders. 

She was laughing now, seated by her friends in the great hall. What could be so amusing that she would throw her head back like that? Cover her face with her hands, almost embarrassed. It wasn't exaggerated or loud, wasn’t done in a way that would draw attention. It was private, shared with the people who surrounded her, but still, he saw it, experienced it all. She smiled as she moved her palms up, running her fingers through the mountains of curls, and Draco found it hard to stop staring. She was so open, so expressive. She hit Weasley on the arm playfully, and the dolt smiled lopsidedly. The way he grinned at her made it clear that there was something there, something he wanted between the two. Potter looked on with an amused expression as he sipped his tea. Draco felt anger boil inside of him. Since when did Weasley have anything interesting to say? Since when was Granger that funny? Since when did she laugh that way? He wished she would stop. Wished he could pluck her out of the small cocoon she was in, wipe the smile right off her face, make her stop laughing at Weasley that way-

_ Kiss Granger to shut her up. Kiss Granger to make her fucking stop. _

It was less about shutting her up. More about getting Weasley's hands off her.

Maybe he could do those things. Storm over to the Gryffindor table, lift her from her seat, and pull her away from them. Leave Weasley behind, face burning red as his idiotic hair. Drag her down the hall, into an empty room. Dark, hardly lit. Just bright enough to see her chest heaving, lips parted- 

Brown eyes caught blue, startled him out of his thoughts. He scowled, trying to mask his surprise, then quickly turned to Pansy. He leaned down, cutting the witch off mid-sentence, and kissed her breathless. It was wrong to do, to use Pansy the way he was. Still, as Draco angled his potion, he cut his eyes towards the Gryffindor table, just to confirm. She had turned away, a pretty blush on her cheeks. As he dipped lower to kiss Pansy, he couldn’t help but wonder how  _ she _ would taste.

~.~

If there was ever a mystery that Draco Malfoy would never unravel, it was why Granger gave Weasley a second of her time. 

And why, for the love of Merlin, did she look like she was about to cry every time a witch in a short skirt caught his eye?

~.~

She looked tired, stressed. He feels it, too. Umbridge has pinned a shiny new badge on him, just as she pins tedious new decrees to the cobblestone walls. It was fun, at first, being a part of the inquisitorial squad. Fun to be given power. Validating, to be recognized for his merits, while Saint Potter was seen for what he was.

Bittersweet to see it taking such a toll on her. Not that he would admit it in a thousand years. Not even under the influence of veritaserum would he tell a soul that he worried about Hermione Granger in his free time. 

~.~

Draco Malfoy was decidedly  _ not _ stalking Hermione Granger. And if he was, so was everyone else who walked to potions, then to the great hall, followed by the library. And after that, straight to the Gryffindor staircase. So it couldn't just be him alone.

His new badge and position in the inquisitorial squad allowed him to follow her, all in the interest of fact-finding. Umbridge was interested in knowing their whereabouts, discovering what, specifically, Potter and his group were up to. She saw betrayal around every corner, lurking in every shadow. Draco was more than happy to keep tabs on Hermione. All in the name of fact-finding, of course.

The things he uncovered were probably of little use to Umbridge, unfortunately. Draco discovered that while she would drink tea, if coffee was offered she reached for that first. She would only nibble at her meals- Draco honestly worried if she was eating enough. Some nights he had half a mind to march over to her dinner table and stick a roll down her throat. Why did no one else seem to notice how she pushed the food around her plate? 

She was studious, everyone knew that. But as Draco watched her, he didn’t see a witch entrenched in her studies, troubled over her work. In fact, it didn’t look like work at all. Hermione Granger was in love with learning. It filled Draco with an uncomfortable pleasure to watch such an intimate act. 

Granger, for all her smarts, did not seem that observant about her surroundings. Even though he was  _ not _ following her, he would admit that their schedules coincide very often, but she seemed to take no notice of it. 

~.~

The more he watched, the more sure he was that Skeeter was full of shit. It didn’t seem like Hermione had any romantic feelings towards Potter, though she did spend a considerable amount of time attached to his hip. In fact, he was fairly certain he had seen her playing wingman for the bastard.

For his part, Potter did not seem interested either. They were friendly, but not in a flirtatious way. 

That wasn’t the case for Weasley. 

At times, it was clear he didn’t care about her worth a fig. But whenever McLaggen came her way, the red-headed oaf looked at Hermione like he wanted to possess her. It was a fucking pissing war that Granger seemed content to let him win.

~.~

He began to notice the small things. When she concentrated, her brows furrowed together. She would wrinkle there first if she kept up the habit. 

She would gather her curls, less bushy than they were last year, and tie them back into a high bun. Defined spirals would slip out as she stood on tiptoes to get a better look in the cauldron. He knew by now that when her hair was back, she meant business. When her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, she became snappy. Weasley and Potter would give her a wide berth, seemingly knowing this inside information as well. Despite the fact that their obvious body language screamed for her to stay away, she would look over her shoulder, nagging them endlessly.

“You’re stirring the wrong way.”

“Did you add one cup or two?”

“ _ Ron _ , it is  **not** supposed to bubble like that!” 

Endless, constant corrections. It drove Draco crazy.

“Enough Granger. Just let them fail already.” He said finally. He hadn’t meant to let that slip out. It was a thought that crept past his lips without thinking- one he needed to rectify. Putting on his best smirk, he added, “Besides, from the looks of it, you might not even be giving them the right information. Sure you’re not trying to off them, Granger?”

She pursed her lips together and breathed through her nose, trying to control her anger. He could practically seem her fuming. As she opened her mouth, ready to pour out a tirade of annoyances and insults, the urge to push her came over him. He didn’t see her as worked up anymore. Fuck, part of him wanted her to punch him the way she had years ago. The flush on her cheeks was so tempting. 

In that moment, he wanted to crowd her against the potions table, her frame so much smaller than his. In his mind, she would smile as she gripped his belt buckle, tugging it off with practiced ease as she fell to the floor. She would look so damned pretty on her knees. 

“Let it go, Mione.” Weasley tugged at her elbow, drawing her attention away. “He’s not worth it.”

~.~

It seemed like every time Cho Chang was around, Granger was pulling Weasley away. Draco bit his tongue as he marched towards the pair, shouting that educational decree 24 bans student groups. When Granger quickly retorted that two students hardly constituted a group, Draco replied that her hair alone ought to count for at least 3 students and to quickly go their separate ways. 

~.~

The song “Weasley is our King” was written largely by Draco, and he was quite proud of it, if anyone cared to ask. The Slytherins sang it in the stands, his teammates chanted it on their broomsticks. 

It was great to see Weasley so nervous. When it came to the already distasteful Weasleys, Ron was the worst. Always backing up Potter, constantly flying around Hermione like a gnat. Truly, the git had nothing going for him. His looks were below average, much like his I.Q. Draco knew that if it wasn’t for the fact that Hermione was such a pushover for her friends, Weasley would have had to repeat a year- several times.

And then he had the nerve to snub her. Had the nerve to let his short temper get the best of him and blow up on her. 

If a little song riled him up, all the better. 

~.~

He lost the match, but Potter still let loose. Such an ugly display of name-calling. He wished Umbridge hadn’t interrupted. He would have loved to break those round glasses and blacken his eyes. Especially because Hermione was screaming, trying to put some sense into him. It infuriated him. Why was it always him? Always Potter? She was forever by his side.

_ Notice me, not him- Notice me-  _ **_notice me._ **

Umbridge banned the Gryffindors from playing. Draco smiled, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

~.~

Was there a reason Granger kept leaving clothes about the castle? It seemed like every other day he saw Granger chasing an elf with some hats or mittens for S.P.E.W. 

Dobby had made his way back to the castle. He heard a rumor that it was hard for the elf to find work, and was glad to be in the kitchens, happy to be back with Potter. 

He had spent his entire life in the service of the Malfoy family. Dobby could have sought him out as easily as he did Potter. Draco realized that Dobby must not want to. 

Maybe Granger was right; maybe the elves were unhappy, wanted their freedom. Perhaps, at the manor, Dobby had been treated unfairly. 

More than unfairly. Wrong.

Before he left the castle, Draco made a pitstop in the kitchens. Inside the emerald green package, a soft jumper, shorts, and several pairs of socks were carefully wrapped. The bright red bow red Dobby’s name.

~.~ 

Christmas at the manor was typically a grand affair. Anything put on by Narcissa Malfoy usually was. Witches and wizards would travel from all over to attend the annual Malfoy parties. They were known to be the social events of the season, and for young, unwed witches and wizards, a perfect matchmaking opportunity. The large evergreen tree was enchanted to twirl, the lights and sparkle from the ornaments making a pretty picture. The gifts under the tree were large in size, large in quantity. Everything seemed like a normal Christmas party, appearance-wise.

Inside, it was tense. It was hushed conversations, heavily veiled hints. There was a constant refill of champagne, a constant need for it . His father smiled, but he could tell he was on edge. And his mother, ever the gracious hostess, she flitted from one group to another, checking in, hearing it all. Draco simply sat back, letting the ebb and flow of conversation wash over him.

“Did you hear about Weasley?” A large wizard had said, leaning against the wall nearest Draco. He was talking to a pretty witch, dark hair pinned high on her head. 

“No, do tell.” She leaned forward, hungry for the news.

“Attacked, they say. Right at the department of mysteries. It’s all very hush-hush.”

“Any day now.” He heard the witch whisper excitedly. The wizard murmured his agreement. 

They were on the precipice; of what, he had no idea. He wished they would have the decency to give details if they would bother to talk so openly. 

Mr.Weasley was attacked, that much he knew. As much as he detested the red-headed clan, he couldn’t help but imagine his own father in danger. He got the sense it wasn’t as far fetched as it might seem.

“Draco, dear.” His mother approached him, a gentle smile plastered on her face. “I believe Pansy is waiting for you to dance with her.”

“Must I?” He frowned. He was in no mood to dance.

“If you find her good enough to kiss in the hallways, I’m sure you’ll find her suitable enough to take a turn on the dance floor with.” 

Draco's blue eyes grew large. He had no idea how his mother had heard about that. She held out her hand, forcing Draco to stand. “I have eyes everywhere, my darling.” 

Pansy would not leave him alone for the rest of the night. She chatted happily, asked his opinion on her dress, her shoes. They talked about their classes, about their classmates, other things he held little interest in. 

She was a fine friend, but that was all. She was pretty, wellbred. Funny, at the right times, kept up with her marks. Their families knew each other well, and her inheritance was sizable. She was everything he should be looking for in a partner, but none of it seemed appealing. He knew that Pansy was hoping for more- he certainly wasn’t helping the situation with his recent actions. But the thought of being attached to Pansy, or any variant of a suitable woman left him feeling sick. Granger's name clawed at the back of his mind, threatening to take over, to spill out.

He gripped Pansy tighter, wishing that the waist he was holding was Granger’s. Wished that he could pull her body in close, sway to the rhythm of the songs. Wished he could sweep her curls to the side so that he could whisper in her ear how badly he wanted her.

More than that, he wished there was a world in which he could dance with Hermione.

~.~

He was happy to see her on the train. Happy to be near her again. She, on the other hand, looked miserable as she walked down the aisles, dutifully inspecting her assigned compartments.

He wondered what had her so fatigued.

~.~

She was dangerous. Having feelings for her was dangerous. 

It was an infatuation, that was all. 

That's all it could be. 

He tried to remind himself of that as he followed her through the halls.

~.~

Draco was called to the headmaster's office in the dead of night. In his gut, he knew. Whatever had been building was finally reaching its arc.

He had never been to Dumbledore's office. He had heard rumors, but never looked at the inside for himself. As the knot in his stomach tightened, the curious part of him wondered what it would be like to have an audience with the headmaster alone. Though he was loathe to admit it, Dumbledore was an intimidating wizard.

He was surprised to find Snape in the headmaster's chair, waiting for him. 

“Snape?” he questioned. “What are you doing here? I thought-”

“Yes.” His professor drawled. “Professor Dumbledore requested your presence. He asked, however, that I deliver the message to you.”

Draco stood in front of the chair, legs locked into place. “What message?”

“Bellatrix Lestrange has broken out of Azkaban. Your aunt is on the loose.”

~.~

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr!  
> https://ajoy3fanfics.tumblr.com


	3. Fifth Year- Cont.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally uploaded, but was missing a part.  
> Reposted to correct this. It has been added, and has two * in front of it, in case anyone wanted to read it, without having to re-read it all. 
> 
> :)

Fifth year

Bellatrix Lestrange had been beautiful once; Draco knew that much. Though the Malfoy’s did not hang portraits of Bella in their home, Draco had privately seen pictures of his aunt as a young woman, full of smiles, wide and toothy, laughing with her sisters. She looked striking- hair as black as ink, long and thick, twisted into loose waves that fell around her shoulder. It was a stark contrast to her pale skin, cheeks rosy with youth. She had the same eyes as his mother. Darker, to be sure- Draco had inherited his icy color from his Narcissa- but Bellatrix had the same heavy lidded look; When he looked long enough, he could see traces of his mother in her face. This was the woman his mother remembered. The sister she kept secret, hidden away in nightstand drawers and only took out when she had too much to drink.

The wanted picture showed a different Bellatrix. She looked almost grey, sickly. Her face was gaunt, starved. And her eyes-   
She was just as crazed as he remembered. 

Draco had only ever met ‘Aunt Bella’ once. Lucius had pulled some strings and made several sizable donations to secure the Malfoy family a visit to Azkaban. He could remember the click of his mothers heels on the stone floor as she briskly walked down the corridors, the blistering wind that cut to the bone.   
And the mad woman locked inside. That, he could never forget.

She looked wild as she lunged from the table, chained and dirty. Draco had never seen a creature so unkempt. Her deep voice called out “Cissy!” in such tormented sob that Draco had been afraid that the creature was going to hurt his mother, and was astounded to see his father do nothing but look on as the lunatic pawed at Narcissa. She gripped his mother, the woman's dirty nails digging into Narcissa’s shoulders and wept. It was not until she heard his mother choke out a sad string of, “Bella, Bella” that he realized this was his aunt. Tears trailed down her filthy cheeks as she finally crouched down to inspect Draco. Her bony hand reached out, gripping his chin as she turned his head left to right.

“He’s got a bit of Black in him, eh?” She murmured, a crooked smile revealing rotten teeth. She began to card her hands through his hair and Draco froze, locked up in fright. It was all he could do just to breathe. “A little too much Malfoy, but we can work around that.”

“He’s a credit to both houses.” His mother said proudly. 

“He’s a Black, Cissy. The last one. He’s got to carry on the legacy.” She looked at him seriously, leaned in to get a better look, and spoke slowly. Dangerously. “When the Dark Lord calls again, he must be ready to answer for the House of Black.”

He felt his mother pull him back, a hard tug on his shoulders, away from his aunt. When their time was up, they made no moves to visit again. 

Bellatrix terrified him as a child. The witch she was before Azkaban was not the same as the one now his mother always said. She had always been a bit untethered, unpredictable. But the time in Azkaban, the isolation, the shame of losing her war, it had driven her mad, depraved. She had once worn silk robes, but now she was draped in chains, stripped rags falling off her shoulder. Snape handed Draco the paper, his aunt holding a placard that read ‘prisoner 93’. She screamed, silent, unheard, as her matted and tangled hair flew around her. Draco swallowed as he tore his eyes away, pushing the paper towards his professor. 

“I knew your aunt. In school and from… other associations.” He said evenly. Steady; Unashamed. “She will try to contact your family. She will try to contact you.” Snape looked at him seriously, “You must inform me if she does. I cannot stress the importance of this.” 

Draco bit his tongue, did little else but nod. He turned on his heels to head back to the dungeons. He knew all summer that something was going to happen, felt the change in the air. It had been building up, winding towards a climax.

The coil was snapping. 

~.~

Draco knew it was his aunt.. But until that moment, she seemed abstract. A portrait hidden away, not a flesh and blood family member. She was not someone he had to claim- not someone he could claim. She was too far removed from his life to be real. Until then.

A few Slytherns clapped him on the back, congratulated him that his aunt was free. Like they had been waiting for it. Like Draco should have been waiting for it. 

“To think they put a pureblood witch in a cell, just because she took up against muggles and mudbloods?” one had said. “Maybe she’ll keep up the work now that she's out again, eh? Good riddance!”

They seemed to have forgotten that she did not set her sights on only muggleborns, but on any wizard who disagreed with their cause. She followed blindly, faithfully. 

Longbottom avoided him in the halls, and up until that moment he had always thought him a coward. Bellatrix was safely contained by the dementors, nothing to be afraid of. And yes, maybe their interactions did not leave the kindest impression on him, but Draco had never done more than sling an insult. 

He was afraid, and had every right to be. It was easy to lock Bellatrix away for Draco. She could be tucked nicely into a side drawer and forgotten about. For Longbottom, she was just as present and cancerous as the day she cast that curse on his parents. She was personal, and invaded his life. Rarely would he give Bellatrix a passing thought; But for Longbottom… everytime he thought of his parents Bellatrix and her cruelty were intertwined. Draco had only tasted this fear, and it left him in shambles. Longbottom- Shit, he lived with it every day. He was stronger than he gave him credit for; not that he’d tell a soul that. Not when his housemates were giving him sly smiles, whispers of congratulations. 

He knew he should share in their excitement; It would look odd if he didn’t.   
It made him feel ill.

Draco couldn’t help but notice that Hermione looked as sick as he felt as she read the paper over breakfast. She folded it hastily, a deep frown on her face as she stuck it into her bag. A mass breakout, they called it. He could see Potter and Weasley, shoulders hunched and faces pinched. From his spot, he could pick up bits of their conversation, all focused around Sirius Black. The two oafs were not as quiet and discreet as they thought themselves to be. Unsurprisingly, she seemed to be the only one who saw it for what it was. 

The chained nightmares had been released.

He wondered if she felt it too, like they were at a precipice. Wished he could tell her how uneasy he felt.   
Wished he could do more than steal glances over his morning tea.

~.~

The days passed, and no mention of Bellatrix came for him. Weeks after, he waited for the owl each morning, looking for clues in his mothers letters to let him know what was happening. They didn’t look any different than usual; she still sent sweets and her warm regards. 

Draco held out hope that maybe Bellatrix used this opportunity to start over, to lay low.   
All he could do was hope. 

~.~

She seemed a little more cheerful, smiled a little more.   
It was nice to see the color in her cheeks, the liveliness brought back to her. Felt good to focus on her instead of worrying about a psychopathic aunt raising the manor while he was tucked safely away at school. 

He noticed that she was meeting with a larger number of students. Secretly- of course, and never for long. Never would he tell.

It wasn’t just Gryffindors she was associating with; Every house but his own was making contact with Granger, passing her notes, discrete nods in the hallways. The exchanges happened so swiftly, so often, that it was almost infectious. Several times Draco almost found himself nodding in her direction before he clenched his fists, nails digging deep, leaving deep crescents, to remind him that no, he and Granger were not involved in whatever she had going on. Fuck, they weren’t even amicable. He and Hermione didn’t spend time together, didn’t laugh. Hell, the closest he came to being near her was when she slapped him in the face. 

Draco was jealous of the people that easily walked up to her. The ones that could tell her something in passing, talk to her about utter nonsense. He had to have reason to speak to Mudblood Granger- had to plan out exactly what he could say, what would be acceptable to others. Turns out, it was only ever insults. The quips never lasted, the interactions were too short, and worst of all, painful. It felt God awful to see her face twist at the things he said- his words. But fuck, he needed to talk to her. She was like a damn drug. 

It seemed like everyone else felt the same way. It was like she was a damn ring leader in a cult with all the attention she was getting. Not that one would notice on the surface. You had to really watch Hermione to see those things going on. But luckily for Draco, that's all he had to do.

Umbridge had officially asked him to trail her, was sure that Hermione was the key to whatever she was trying to riddle out. He smirked as he accepted the mission, “I’ll be on top of her, professor.”

Fuck, he wished he could be.   
Or under, or behind. Hell, he’d settle to just be near her, skirt hiked high so he could see her white panties. In the library, against the stacks. Or in his bed, hands twisted into his sheets as he gripped her thighs and drove into her. He’d take her right on Flintwicks desk if she’d let him. Merlin, he would give her anything if she would let him.

She walked by with Weasley, purposefully leaving Potter alone with Chang. She had her petite hand wrapped around his elbow as she whispered something about ‘space’. She was trying to contain a smile- awful at it, really. And Merlion, she looked at Weasley in a way that turned Draco’s stomach. Big, brown doe eyes, stealing glances. She had thick, heavy lashes- how had no one ever mentioned that? Never talked about her bedroom eyes?   
Maybe because they were always directed at that bloody weasel, no one could take notice.

He noticed. What he wouldn’t give to have her look that way at him.

Merlin, they weren’t even amicable. 

~.~

It occurred to Draco that he may have a problem.   
A small one. People all over the world suffered- had addictions, afflictions, people died everyday. He just had an infatuation.

A slight obsession, perhaps.   
Mild. Completely mild.

Fucking ludicuris. 

He and Hermione were not friends, yet he knew so much about her. Too much, some might say. He memorized her schedule, how she liked her tea. Knew she preferred cappuccinos should they be offered. Knew that when she stretched, she always put her hands high above her head and twisted to the right first. Knew that when she did that, the hem of her shirt would ride up, exposing the slightest amount of skin that left him salivating. Knew she often scoured informational texts, but far preferred fiction. Knew she liked to twist a loose curl around her finger as she read, idle, preoccupied. It drove him mad, made him want to demand her attention. She never fucking noticed. 

That wasn’t even the problem. He was perfectly self aware that he was a sick bastard.   
The issue was everyone else. 

What would Slythern think if they knew Draco Malfoy was half hard every time he watched Hermione Granger take house points away? He’d be exiled, ridiculed. And if the news ever got back to his mother- she wouldn’t be able to handle it. The tears and theatrics that would ensure already gave Draco a headache. Merlin forbid his father found out…

History had shown what happened to pureblood wizards in his family that married beneath station. Marred their bloodlines so badly they were burned out of family records. 

And for what?   
It’s not like she would choose him anyway.  
~.~

Ron Weasley made for a terrible prefect, if anyone asked for Draco’s opinion. He liked to take house points away as an act of power, a way to boost his ego. Draco found it incredibly pathetic that Weasely needed a silver badge to feel important- probably because he had so little else going on in his life. But that was not the part that bothered him most. 

It was that he idiot didn’t even take it seriously! He seemed to make up his own rules, dock points based on his mood. And it became abundantly clear that if your skirt was short and legs toned, Weasley would let you off with a warning. 

Even more infuriating was that he was paired with Hermione. He’d have to see them walking together, talking about Merlin knows what. Sometimes he’d make her laugh, but most times, he trailed behind her like a sad puppy. 

He didn’t appreciate her, didn’t even know how to- that much was clear. She was too smart for him- did she really have no one better to run her ideas and theories by? Why did she waste her time on Weasley when he didn’t understand anything other than “I was in the library…?” 

He could talk to her so easily, whenever he wanted. Could stroll up to Hermione and wrap an arm around her shoulder. It made Draco seethe to see it, made him think of all the ways he could break a bone in two. And what amazed him, absolutely floored him, was that Hermione could not seem to keep his attention. How many times had she hit him, trying to keep him focused as his eyes followed every witch that walked by? He would nod, his empty brain rattling around as he pretended to listen to the things she said. He had the world in his hands but still wanted more. 

Not for the first time, Draco wondered how different it would be had Hermione been sorted into Slytherin. He was certain she’d look stunning in green.

~.~

It was a hard pill to swallow, knowing how disgustingly one sided it was. Logically, Draco knew that he and Hermione were never going to happen. Never meant to. Never would be.

That did little to curb his imagination. It was so wild that it was hard to distinguish fact from fiction. 

She didn’t want him, not like he wanted her. Hell, Hermione didn’t even like him.  
No, not Hermione. Granger.   
When had he started referring to her as Hermione? When had she begun to feel comfortable, familiar? 

Granger. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

Prissy little Granger who was the first to correct someone when they made a mistake. Stuck up Granger who knew better than anyone else in the wizarding world- maybe the muggle one too. High strung Granger, who had one hell of a right hook, didn’t take shit from anyone. Always the boss, had to be the one in charge. It made Draco want to push her down, make her submit. No, that was the wrong train of thought. Prudish- Granger alway had her oxford buttoned up tight, wore sweaters. He’d bet anything she was wild underneath. Granger, who-

Fuck, he needed to get his mind off of her. Needed to get Hermione out of his head.   
Draco took a deep breath and reminded himself that he didn’t know her. Not really.   
Granger.  
Granger.  
Granger.

~.~

Snape had never been the sort of professor who took an interest in his students, let alone those from other houses. At best, Draco could describe his relationship with Snape as awkward, but tolerable. 

When Snape had asked him to stay behind after class, his heart nearly stopped beating. It had to be about Bellatrix. He was delivering news to him, passing a message his way. Something too horrid, too secret that his mother could not even code it in her daily message. Snape waited in until the classroom emptied and the hallways quieted to speak.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Draco.” He said, much to his surprise.

“What?” He scoffed, both relieved and genuinely confused at what the professor meant. 

“You may think you are keeping it under wraps, but you stare far too long at the girl.” Draco swallowed hard. 

“It's none of your business.” He spat. “And it’s nothing to get upset about.” 

“Perhaps.” He drawled, considering Draco’s words, the defensive way he crossed his arms over his chest. “But, if it were… something…. More-”

“-It’s not-” He interjected.

“Then I should remind you that your aunt has recently escaped Azkaban.”

“I’m well aware of that, thanks.” Draco snapped.

“If she finds that you hold even the slightest bit of affection for Granger-”

“Affection?” He countered. Snape kept steady, kept pressing on.

“She will crave her flesh clean from her bone. Bellatrix will turn her fingers into jewelry. So should this be anything more-”

“How many damn times-”

“SHOULD IT-” Snape's voice rose to a timber he had never heard, made the hairs rise on the back of his neck. “I may be able to help.”

Draco froze, almost too afraid to breathe.

“Help how?”

~.~

Pansy was nothing if not a good distraction. Better than the Greengrass sisters, and aside from them, there were very few options left for Draco.

Yes, there were others available in different houses. Pureblood ones too; but it was expected that Draco would bed and wed a Slythern. Asinine traditions and expectations. He was becoming increasingly tired of expectations.  
Like valentines day.

Whose brilliant idea was it that witches needed the red carpet rolled out for them, just because it was the 14th of February? Chocolates from Switzerland, jewelry that dripped in gems. Cards and romantic gestures, adding layers of unneeded intimacy to a relationship. It felt forced and unnecessary; He didn’t give a damn about it. 

Pansy, on the other hand, could talk about nothing else. She was good at that- filling the void with conversation. She didn’t prattle on like Astoria did, but kept it going at an easy pace. They were friends, and it somehow made it more bearable to try and replace Hermione’s name with Pansy. 

He wanted to hold Pansy. Wanted to lick his way down her neck, grip her curls- no, short, cropped hair, as he brought her head back to bite the junction of her shoulder, suck it until it bruised. It was Pansy he imagined accidently running into in the prefects bath, tanned skin- fuck, pale skin covered up only by a bath towel. Pansy was the one to enact that with him, but it was Granger on his mind. To be fair, he couldn’t help where his thoughts strayed as he rocked his hips between Pansy’s legs- his blood was flowing away from his brain.

Of course, it left Draco with mixed feelings. The sex was good- of that he had no complaints. But it was unfulfilling. Not enough.   
Empty.

At first he had felt guilty about using Pansy, taking his needs out on her while he fantasized about someone else. The first few times the guilt had gnawed at him so completely that he felt sick enough to almost admit it to her. But then he remembered that though Pansy may like him as a person, she liked his Gringotts vault just as much. That without his money behind him, she might not be so keen to take his arm.   
They were friends. Cut from the same cloth. They both knew what it was.

When she hinted (heavily, multiple times) that she might like to go out on Valentine's day, Draco didn’t mind taking the trip to Hogsmead. They were official, though no one had publicly said so, and a gentleman must treat his witch right- even if he thought the holiday was total bollocks. 

He had met her in the common room, earrings in hand, flowers in the other, bundled and ready to brace the winter's chill. She had accepted the gifts gracefully, tugged on his bottom lip as she kissed him in thanks, and before long, they found themselves strolling through Hogsmead. Pansy looped her arm through his as they headed to Madam Puddifoots for tea, bags from Honeydukes in hand. The day hadn’t been entirely unpleasant, but the throngs of people crowding the street, obnoxious in their love, decked out in reds and pinks set him on edge. Best of all, it was entirely Granger free. A day without running into her. A day without having to see her sandwiched between Potter and Weasely.   
That was until they passed The Three Broomsticks.

It wasn’t even his idea to stop in, to freaking spy. But as they walked by the shop Pansy caught sight of Granger and stopped dead in her tracks.

“Is that Granger?” She twisted her neck to get a better look. “At the Three Broomsticks for Valentines day. Oh, that’s rich.” He couldn’t say that she cackled- no wellbred woman would- but the sound was dangerously close.

“Probably just waiting for Weasley.” He answered darkly. He hated the idea of the two of them together. Hated the thought of her waiting for him. Did Weasely know how lucky he was that she even gave him the time of day? What did she see in him anyway? It certainly wasn’t his intelligence. Revolting orange hair, freckles, lanky build, was that really Grangers type? The reason she tied her hair up with red ribbons, wore a red sweater? 

“Think Madam Puddifoots was too expensive for a Weasley?” She snickered. “Let’s pop in Draco.”

“In- In there?” He balked. “What for?”

“I want to see what the Golden duo does without their third. I imagine they’re terribly boring. I’d bet Granger quotes from the dictionary and Weasley pretends to understand.”   
Draco often wondered the same thing. They had nothing in common. What could the two possibly talk about? He wasn’t eager to find out, felt mouth turning down at the thought of Hermione leaning in to kiss-

“You want to spend our date watching Granger?” He asked.

“And Weasley, yes. Draco, this is loads more interesting!.” She smiled as she tugged him towards the door. “Like dinner and a show!” 

Well, she had him there. In his very limited free time, when he wasn’t busy following Granger from one place to the next, he was fantasizing about doing it. Weasley was just never part of it.

No, he was doing this to get away from Granger, not drag others into his obsession.   
“Pans, why would we want to subject ourselves to what I’m sure will be a disgusting display?”

“For the laughs, of course.” Pansy tilted her head as she appraised him. 

“So juvenile. Waste of fucking time.” He turned his nose up, hoping she would take the bait.

“You used to be more fun, Draco. This sort of thing used to get a rise out of you.” She pulled him forward, dragging him along. Despite having followed her just yesterday, having company made it feel seedy.

He rolled his eyes and allowed himself to be lead forward, quickly claiming a seat near Grangers table. Not too obvious, one would really have to look to catch a glimpse of them- but still close enough to eavesdrop. Draco made sure to get the seat facing away from her. He didn’t fancy seeing her make eyes at a weasel. 

“I don't think Daddy exactly pays people to write for the magazine. They do it because it's an honor, and, of course, to see their names in print." He recognized that voice. Draco turned to Pansy and mouthed “Who..?”

“That's loony Lovegood.” She whispered. 

"I'm supposed to do this for free?" Skeeter? Why on Earth was Rita Skeeter meeting at Hogsmeade? With Lovegood no less? 

"Well, yes.” Draco heard her voice and it sent a shock through him. “Otherwise, as you very well know, I will inform the authorities that you are an unregistered Animagus. Of course, the Prophet might give you rather a lot for an insider's account of Azkaban...."

Draco’s eyes blew wide, taking in the new information. Pansy seemed less interested, though she still listened intently. 

"I don't suppose I've got any choice, have I?" He could practically hear Skeeter seething. 

Draco couldn’t help the smirk; tried to control it by biting down on his bottom lip. His girl- she was damn good.

~.~  
Umbridge was mad. No, that wasn’t even the right word for it. Livid, perhaps. Crawling out of her skin was a rage that was palpable, might be more accurate. 

Thanks to Potter’s stunt and Hermione’s brilliance, students were no longer allowed to read the Quibbler- not that he was anyway. Still, everytime another hammer hung up one of Umbridge's decrees, Draco felt himself suffocated a little more. Nevermind the fact that she was chomping at the bit to get Potter and his accomplices. He had thought that she saw him for what he was, but now he wondered if there was something more. Draco had his own reasons for hating Saint Potter, but Umbridge… it was almost as if she was threatened by him, for how harshly she reacted. 

When Goyle had caught him talking with Lovegood and Longbottom in the hallway he had promptly split the trio up, and in the process, Potters glasses may or may not have been cracked.

And because nothing could ever be easy in his life, never achieve any sort of balance, he realized that if Potter was unhappy, so was Hermione. He couldn’t enjoy his nemesis getting what he deserved if he knew it would upset the witch that filled every corner of his thoughts.

He picked a fine time to give a shit about Potters well-being. Umbridge was hungry to make an example of him; it fell on Draco to tell Crabbe and Goyle to ease off.

Life just wasn’t fair.  
~.~

He never used to care about what upset her. Used to call her a filthy little mudblood to her face. 

Some days he missed that. Missed the time in his life when things were so uncomplicated. When he stopped making them complicated. At least if he could touch her, hold her, fucking taste her, it would make it worth it. What was it all for? What was the point of wanting someone so badly, crave them so completely that it made you question everything you thought you knew?

But then Draco would catch sight of her, legs curled up as she read one of her blasted books, sunlight catching on her chestnut curls in just the right way that she looked angelic. Unashamed to be herself. Content with her own company. Smiling at whatever nonsense filled the pages. It must be fiction; must be one she was familiar with, from the way she lazily turned the pages; like she had lived the story more than once. And in that moment, it would feel like Draco could finally breathe; like air was filling his lungs for the first time. It reminded him why it was worth it.

~.~

Why did prefects have to patrol with their houses? Just once- just fucking once, couldn’t Malfoy and Granger be paired on the schedule? Perhaps to patrol somewhere outside, secluded, away from everyone?

Why was it always Pansy who unfastened his buckle in the empty classrooms, stroking his hard cock instead of Hermione? Pansy, who was caged between his arms, back against the stone wall as she panted into his ear. He’d hike her thigh up higher, grip it tighter to lock her in place as he rocked his hips into hers. And when he’d come down, the ecstasy and joy washing away, he’d wonder “Is this what she’s doing with Weasley? Are they fucking at this very moment?” 

The afterglow never lasted long when he was on rounds. 

~.~

The squad caught them inside the room of requirement. Caught all of them, red handed, wands drawn. Dumbledore’s Army they named themselves. Rule breakers was what Umbridge had said. 

Draco had to be there. Crabbe and Goyle were practically giddy with excitement as Umbridge cast spell after spell to dismantle the wall. Pansy, who stood to his side, looked like she was going to burst from the drama. All Draco could do was try to remain calm. He willed the wall to hold, said every counter spell he knew to hold it up.

He knew what the other members of the squad had been doing- knew the curses and jinxes they gave as punishments. For all the rules plastered throughout the school, it was lawless. Worst, he heard rumors of Umbridge, and what she had done to Potter. He remembered the frightened look Hermione gave him as he tugged down his sleeve. Draco worried if she would see the same fate, once the wall was down.

What would he do? If Umbridge was determined to make an example of the golden trio, how should he react? He couldn’t sit by and watch her be tortured. He couldn’t just stand there and let her come to harm. He would have to do something; there was no scenario in Darco’s mind in which he could bear witness to Hermione hurt and in pain, with him on the sidelines. 

He could see it all in his mind, a course of actions ready to be played out. All them leadinging to the rescue of his witch and the shame and isolation that would follow. Not just from friends and family, but also from her. She would never want to see him again if she knew in the inner workings of his mind; knew how desperately he wanted her. All of her. It wasn’t worth denying anymore. He was a sick fucking freak, and she would be better off without him nearby. And that would be the end of it- he would never see Hermione again.

He focused, begged, and willed the castle to listen. The room of requirement was supposed to fulfill a need, and fuck, he needed those walls to stay up. It wasn’t good enough.

When Umbridge stepped through, the bright light of the corridor bleeding in, his eyes immediately went to Hermione. His stomach sank low to find she was already looking his way, looking at him. 

Each one was marched down to her office, made ready to give an account. All the while Draco formulated his plans and readied himself for his move.

~.~

On the list of things that Draco Malfoy thought to be unlikely, Dumbledore taking the fall for Saint Potter and vanishing into thin air with a bird topped the list. He always figured he’d fuse himself to the walls in order to avoid being cast out of Hogwarts. Leave it to the greatest wizard of all time to add the theatrics. 

The whole school was in an uproar. He was certain his father would march down to the castle and pull him out, drag him back to the manor. His mother was over protective on the best of days, and she would never stand to have her only child in a school filled with turmoil.

But when his father did not come, and Umbridge settled in behind Dumbledore's desk, he had a dreadful sense of foreboding that something big was about to change- and not for the better.

~.~

It was almost painful to say so, but the older Weasley’s gave Draco a laugh. The red-headed blights may be a menace, but the twins knew how to leave with a grand gesture. The only thing funnier than the entire fiasco was seeing how flustered Hermione had been.

~.~

Draco hadn’t meant to find her asleep in the library. For once, he was too preoccupied with his own studies to follow Granger around- O.W.L.S. were no laughing matter. The amount they were expected to memorize and recite was borderline criminal. No one would ever use half of the charms he was required to know, but he still had to spend his days practicing with wand and quill. 

He had meant to get a book- just pop in and out- but as he walked to the stacks his eyes skated to her usual table. Only this time, he found her head propped on top of her folded arms, eyes closed. Her breathing was heavy, even, as her chest rose and fell with each intake.

Draco lowered himself to the floor and took a seat near her. They couldn’t sit at the same table, of course. That alone would be cause for alarm from any of the student body. But he could be close enough that he could keep an eye on her while she slept. He picked up his wand and practiced charms, making paper birds dance overhead. 

It could have been minutes, maybe hours before she woke. Draco wasn’t sure; it was like being caught in a haze to see her so vulnerable. Her lashes fluttered as she blinked herself awake, stretching high overhead, twisting to the right first, like always. 

That was when she saw him.

“M-Malfoy?” She stuttered, embarrassed. It made him nervous to look at her so directly.

“Finally awake, Granger?” He snarked. “Thought you were going to spend the night here.”

“Wh-Why? What are you doing?” She was desperately trying to connect the dots, put the pieces together. Draco longed to drag it on, hold her there in the moment forever.

“You fell asleep.” It was quick, too quick. He should have put more thought into an explanation. “For the ‘brightest witch of our age’ you much stupid fucking choices.It's dangerous to be so carefree, you know.” He added.

“I must be dreaming,” She said, giving her cheek a gentle slap. 

“Then you must have very boring dreams, Granger.” He smirked at her, unable to control it. “I like mine a bit more exciting.” 

“I was sleeping-” She started.

“Thought we’ve covered that-” 

“And you thought... you were the one to what, look out for me?” She was skeptical, and it was only fair. “Did you do something to me while I slept Malfoy? Do I have ‘idiot’ written across my forehead or something? Just tell me now and get it over with.”

“I didn’t do anything!” He objected. 

“Sure, Draco Malfoy would just watch over me while I slept for no reason.”

He answered defensively. “I may be a lot of things Granger, but first and foremost, I am a gentleman. And a gentleman would never leave a witch in such a vulnerable position. You’ve studied charms. Not all of them are good natured. So yes, I looked out for you. My training as a wellbred wizard wouldn’t allow me to leave a witch alone like that.” 

Hermione frantically ran her hands through her hair, trying to control the frizz and volume. Draco wanted to tell her to stop, that she looked fucking beautiful with it wild, untamed. But instead, he cleared his throat awkwardly. “No matter who the witch is.”

She nodded, as if any of the bullshit he said made any sense. As if he wasn’t watching over her for his own satisfaction, for his own peace of mind.

“Why didn’t you just wake me?” She managed, still eyeing him suspiciously.   
Draco shrugged. 

“Who says I didn’t try? Have you seen yourself Granger? The bags under your eyes are incredible. You should submit them to a medical textbook.”

“Ha, very witty Malfoy.” She said, collecting her things into her bag. Draco did the same, stretching as he stood. “I- I just have been preoccupied- with my studies, I mean.” Hermione looked away from him as he rolled his neck; it made Draco immediately straighten, worried that he had become too casual, made her uncomfortable.  
Of course he had! He was fucking watching her while she slept for crying out loud. 

“Right.” His throat felt dry as he swallowed, then turned to leave. Two steps forward, and she in front of him, chocolate eyes holding him in place.

“Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t- I mean-” Hermione bit her lip as tried to gather her thoughts. It wasn’t often he got to catch her off guard, to watch the wheels work in Hermione’s head. When she spoke, her voice was lower, a sexy timber that shot right to his groin. “Thank you.” 

Hermione took off in a brisk walk, leaving him behind.

It was a good day.

~.~

They had caught them by Umbridge's office. All hands were on deck looking for the group. Umbridge made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that nothing, barring death, was off limits. It set the group alight with a hunger for the hunt. Even Draco felt fired up to catch them.   
If he didn’t get to Hermione first, who knew what would happen?

It was easy to find her, easy to know which set of footsteps were hers. He had trained for that moment, laid in wait, and now she was his. He’d crucio anyone who thought to put a hand on her. Draco led the charge, determined to be the one in control, needed to be the one. 

Her hand reached out, ready to grip the door handle when he found them. They were quiet, even charmed their shoes to not make a sound, so to say Hermione was surprised to find Dracos large hand clamped over her mouth was an understatement. He worried that his ring knocked against her teeth, because the next thing he knew, he could feel her tongue dart out, as if licking a bloody wound. Her breathing came in quick bursts, hot and panicked. Draco’s other hand splayed across her stomach, pulling her in, closer than they had ever been before. The rest of the squad had followed suit, the sound of a struggle behind him. 

She was making a strangled noise in the back of her throat, and Draco could feel the fear coursing through her. He leaned in, so small a movement it would be missed, until his lips were near her ear. 

“Shh.” He begged, and felt her try to twist to look his way. Weasley let out a mangagled scream as his arm was bent backwards. “I won’t hurt you.” It was barely more than a breath, hardly a whisper. Hermione froze, eyes wide. Longbottom groaned as Crabbe knocked his head against the wall, a small trickle of blood running past his eyes. Hermione's voice began to hitch. 

“Shh.” He begged, flexing his fingers that dug into her hips. His voice was shaking, desperate. “Please.” 

Hermione was a smart witch- the brightest of their age. Draco silently willed her to understand. 

If she made noise, if she struggled, it would have to look like he was hurting her. And for the life of him, Draco had no idea how to do that without traumatizing her.

He used to dream of the different ways he could shut her up, make her stop talking. When he was younger it was juvenile, just wanted her to stop talking, stop showing off that she could memorize every dry textbook on the shelves. It grew to something more, spiraled into fantasizes of slapping his palm over her mouth to muffle her sounds as he pumped into her, the moans loud, needy. Never had he imagined this- begging her to keep quiet, his body shaking from fear that she would be hurt.

“You got her, mate?” Goyle asked.

“Just brains and no brawn in this one.” He joked. “Granger barely put up a fight.” He squeezed her again, hoping beyond hope that his comment would not rile her up.

He didn’t miss the way Pansy looked him up and down, Granger held flush against him. He way his hands lingered on her skin.

“Let’s bring them into Umbridge’s office.” Pansy offered, still looking at him skeptically. “That’s where she’s expecting them.” 

~.~

He should have kept a tighter hold on her- should have known she’d insert herself into any problem, try to solve everything. 

Umrbidge had been tickled pink to see a job well done. More than happy to peg Potter as the main culprit, the ringleader. She wasted no time interrogating him; Had she planned this ahead of time, or was cruelty really so natural to her? She kept going on and on about a secret weapon- she really gave too much credit to the man. It wouldn’t be the boy who lived who came up with a hail mary- it would be the brains of the operation. 

When Potter would not budge, refused to reveal any secrets, she held her wand up, on the brink of the cruciatus curse. Draco felt his muscles weaken, his jaw go slack, energy drained. He heard her rumors, but that was nothing in comparison to seeing a headmasteer ready to torture students. Wizards his age. Peers.  
And if Harry was first, he could guarantee who was next. 

Turns out, he didn’t need to wait for Umbridge to pull Hermione from his arms and drag her forward; his damned witch offered herself up. She felt the change in him, felt his momentary weakness and took full advantage. Hermione rushed forward, and just like that, she was out of his grip, slipped away and shouting; claiming that she knew where the secret weapon was, that she could take Umbridge to it. 

In the woods. Of course it was in the bloody woods. 

The headmistress pushed Potter and Hermione out the door, ordering the squad to keep a close eye on the rest of the group. 

~.~

As Draco watched Ron Weasley run out of the office, he knew that the twit would brag to everyone that he met that he had bested him in defense. 

Not even in his damn dreams could Ronald Weasley beat him in defensive spells. Did he know that every summer, every holiday, his father made him train in them relentlessly? Did he moron really think he was able to bloody his lip and get that many right hooks in if Draco hadn’t thrown the match? Hell, he leaned in to every punch. When he let the jinxes render him paralyzed, Weasley hovered above him, examining his work. He smiled- toothy and wide, far too much gums showing, as he walked over him, stepping on Draco’s hand along the way.   
He was oozing satisfaction, brimming with ego.

He could practically see him puff his chest out as he ran to Hermione to save her. 

As long as he saved her.  
~.~


	4. Sixth year, pt.1

If you knew your last minute of peace would truly be your last, what would you do differently? Draco often wondered that over his summer. Would he have breathed a little deeper, revealed in the normal pace of his heart? Savor the sweet feeling of living without anxiety, without his pulse racing, heart beating out of his chest? Would he have stopped to take it all in, make it a flesh memory, if for nothing else than to hold on to it all the tighter later? 

As he wiped his bloody lip with the back of his hand, breathless, struggling to stand, he stopped musing about what he would change, but more importantly, wondered what he did. When did he last feel anything but nauseous? When was the last time he felt like the world wasn’t about to fall apart if he so much as looked at someone the wrong way?

Certainly before summer. Before he was escorted from Hogwarts Express, a grim look in his mothers eyes. She gave him a tight lipped smile, a short, but tight hug, before she whispered that they must hurry back, to keep quiet, because there were eyes everywhere. It was not until they reached the gates of the manor that his mother warned him that things had changed. 

“Guests,” She called them.

Criminals, murderers. The criminally insane, more like.

It chilled him to the bone to see his home crawling with the scum his family would never so much as glance at before  _ he  _ came back. 

Before  _ she _ did too.

When he walked through the front door it felt as if he had entered a different world. His head spun as he took in the foyer, usually tranquil and empty, now filled with strangers strolling past him. As if they had any right to roam the halls of his house. They didn’t even have the breeding to nod his way or greet the young master hello. Draco scrunched his nose up in distaste.

“ _ Manners _ , Draco.” His mother prompted him.

“You’re reminding me of that? What the fucking hell-   
  


“-language.”

“-going on here?” He clenched his fists by his side. He fucking hated to be left out. The entire year he knew something was wrong, could feel it in his gut, but his mother has not so much as hinted at anything amiss.

“Draco.” The way his name hissed from her lips, dripped out like a poison, made him freeze. He hunched his shoulders, could freaking feel her eyes boring into his back. “I thought you’d never get here, love.” 

Bellatrix practically flew in front of him, grasping Dracos face between her bony hands. “Let me get a look at you.” It was the strangest mix of sadness and pride. 

Bellatrix appraised him from top to bottom, clicking her tongue as she turned his chin. Every fiber, every muscle, every atom screamed at him to look away, pull his jaw away from her claws, and go  _ anywhere _ else. Fucking Hogwarts sounded better than this hell. And it had only been a minute inside. 

“He’s too thin, Cissy.” She snapped. “Much too thin. What have you been feeding my nephew?” 

“He eats well, Bella.” She defended. “Draco has quite the sweet tooth, in fact.”

She smiled at that, teeth rotten, sharp. “Is that so?” Some memory sparked in her eyes; something from long that had nothing to do with him. She turned to Narcissa. “Just like Daddy?”

“In many ways.” She answered proudly. 

“Right, right. Of course.” Bellatrix smoothed down his hair, carding her pale, cold fingers through the blonde strands. She leaned in close, voice dropping to a languid whisper. “Last of the blacks.” 

“I’m a Malfoy.” Draco spit it out before he could bite his tongue. He was scared of his aunt, always had been. But now she didn’t just act like a fiend from a nightmare, she damn well looked like one too. It churned his stomach to have her so close. He could still smell Azkaban on her, as if the filth was a permanent fixture on her skin. He didn’t intend to say a word to her, but all the nonsense about being a Black dredged up his memories of their last visit. Why was his mother not pulling him away, as she had done then?

“Ha! A Malfoy.” She gripped his hair by the roots as she laughed and tugged. Hard enough to make him wince, quick enough that she instantly let go. Easily could have been brushed off as an accident. Easily could have been a misunderstanding. “Well, Draco… I have to say I’m surprised. After hearing what your traitorous father did-”

“-father?”

“- I’d think you’d be all too eager to shed the Malfoy shame. Take up the Black name, live your legacy.”

“He will do no such thing Bella.” His mother finally intervened, after what seemed like an eternity. She stood between Draco and his aunt, and Draco was sure his heart rate had doubled since he saw the main gates. “And I thought we discussed letting  _ me _ talk to him first. He has no idea-”

“He should be upset that he  _ failed, _ not that he has to live the consequences of it!”

He was a pot boiling over. A volcano ready to explode. Too much energy in his body. Too many thoughts racing through his head. The busts on the pedestals shattered around him, wandless magic crackling through the air as he roared, “What the fuck is going on?!”

Narcissa and Bellatrix immediately stopped, turned to face him, stunned to silence. 

His aunt smiled. “Just like a Black.”

~.~

Had it been an insult or a compliment? It rattled around in Draco’s head. His knee jerk reaction was that she was speaking from a place of pride. But when Draco learned that Bellatrix had killed her cousin Sirius Black, he wondered if her words were indeed a threat.

~.~

Interestingly enough, the news that his father had been locked away did not startle Draco. 

His mother thought to be gentle, that the news might blow him over, literally knock him down. Instead, it crashed over him, a wave so intense he felt numb. 

Of course his father was in Azkaban. There was no way he would allow this madness; his aunt and her lunacy, the vermin that came and left the manor to skulk around his home. These people wouldn’t be invited for a holiday party at Malfoy Manor, let alone encouraged to board unless something dire had happened to his father. 

In some respect, it surprised Draco to know his father had failed whatever half-baked mission they aimed to achieve. Lucius had always been so confident, so in control of everything and everyone. In all his life, he had never seen his father incompetent. It was difficult to imagine what it looked like. 

From the way his new house guests snickered, the gossip that was swapped in not-so-hushed whispers in the halls, it had been a sight to see. That was the way those assholes put it anyway.

Two men, Yaxley and some lackey of his, seemed to revel in it. Bringing the Malfoy name down into the mud gave them a sick sort of pleasure.

“Just a matter of time until this place falls into the  _ right _ hands.” Yaxley said, smirking as he glanced towards Draco. “The Dark Lord promised me some  _ big _ rewards to clean up after Malfoys fuck up..”

Draco snapped his attention to Yaxley, trying up his courage as his squared his shoulders. Yaxley was a tall man, slim, but fit. If he threw a punch, Draco was sure he wouldn’t escape without a few broken bones. And wouldn’t he love that, the filth he was?

“Don’t you dare say another fucking word against my father.” He seethed.

“Draco! Stop!” His mother rushed to him. The woman seemed like a magnet since he came home, never far from his side. His mother gripped his arm as she pulled him back. Draco had clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. “ _ Draco, Stop.” _

He felt like hitting Yaxley, felt like shaking his mother off of him, but he could feel her fingers dig into his skin, her hands trembling. 

“Mind your temper,  _ boy.”  _ Yaxley took his time as he moved his gaze to Narcissa, looking her up and down slowly-  _ too slowly. _ “Mummy won’t always be around to protect you.”

“Don’t fucking look at my mother-”

“-Mother, father. Where should I look then, boy?”

“Yaxley.” She commanded, “You are a  _ guest _ in my home. I will not have you acting in an uncouth manner. Please take your leave for the night.”

Yaxlet nodded, but sized Draco up before he turned to leave. “S’fine. The Dark Lord asked for me anyhow.”

  
  


“ _Lowlives.”_ Narcissa hissed. “Not worth your time, dear. _”_ His mother had said, gripping his arm as she pulled him back. Draco had clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

He fucking hated this.

Draco twisted out of his mothers grasp and stormed the stairs, eager to get to his room, to find comfort in the only four walls that had any ounce of normalcy. 

So it should have been no surprise to see his Aunt Bella waiting for him at the landing, arms crossed, lips pressed together in disapproval. In the shitshow that was now his life, it made sense that he wouldn’t be able to carve out even a minute of refuge for himself.

“Should’ve taught him a lesson.” She spat. “Scum like that, talking to a Black that way.” She craned her neck to see if Yaxley was about, then raised her voice to yell, “Disgraceful!”

“Right?” He felt his lip draw up in a sneer. “Makes me fucking sick.” Draco rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the knots in his neck. He had only spoken a few times to his aunt, and never typically alone. He had thought she would have pounced on him, if the way she acted his first day back was any indication. But it seemed that the Dark Lord kept her busy.

“Just a lousy upstart, that Yaxley. Thinks he’s in The Dark Lords good graces because he did one mission for him and earned some praise.” It was clear his aunt felt the same distaste he did.

Draco found himself saying, “As if that's all it takes.” Though he was unsure why. In his house of enemies, perhaps he was trying to find an ally.

“Exactly!” she exclaimed, uncrossing her arms and leaning forward. “The Dark Lord isn’t a fickle man, Draco.” Her voice was low, serious. “But he does not take mistakes lightly.” She gripped his forearm as she spoke, eyes ablaze with passion. “It's serious business, not something to be toyed around with for status, like that Yaxley.” He watched as Bellatrix brought her hand to his face, caressing his cheek with her thumb. “You know better though, right love? Why we need to do this work? We can’t let the Yaxley’s of the world look down on us.”

“No,” he said, the words sticking in his throat. 

“So we need to stick together, you and me.” She spoke slow, searching his eyes. “Cissy is too tender-hearted, always has been. She can’t endure this much longer.” 

Draco nodded his head in agreement. 

“We need to get this family back under control. You and me, Draco.”

~.~

As scary as Bellatrix had seemed to Draco as a child, he had to admit he somewhat admired her. She was unafraid of anyone; perhaps it was simply that she was crazed and fear was no longer an emotion she registered.

But when Bella hexed Pettigrew for speaking to Narcissa in a demeaning, demanding tone, he couldn’t help but feel that maybe they were on the same side. 

~.~

If Draco had thought that Aunt Bella had made an idle proposition earlier, he was sorely mistaken. Draco took family seriously- the Malfoys were known for it- but Bella had a devotion to the Black name and lineage that made her a woman possessed. 

“You’re our last hope, Draco. The prodigal son, eh?” She smiled at him like a snake. 

Being the last hope didn’t just involve a title. Apparently it required him to wake before dawn and train. Bella was quick with a wand; it made him shudder to think how lethal she would have been if she had been in practice all these years. If Draco had assumed she’d be rusty with a few spells, he was sorely mistaken. 

The bitch hit hard.

Every spell, every curse was merciless. One to stiffen the muscles, to set them on fire. One to turn the blood to lead. One to boil the skin, one to derail the mind. She taught him curse after curse, dueling with him until he got it right.

_ ‘Why can’t she have her own damn kid?’  _ Draco wondered.  _ ‘Why pin all her hopes on me?’ _

When he could not perform, could not match her sophisticated skill, she turned angry. Face red, brows furrowed and teeth clenched. 

“No!” She shrieked, aiming her wand at him. She sent a spark of electricity his way- a curse to seep into his bones. “Do you think your opponent will be as forgiving as me?” She broke the spell, leaving Draco huddled and wheezing.

“Do it again.” 

~.~

Even night time proved to give Draco little peace. With his head on his mountain of pillows, a cooling charm over his four poster bed, a light comforter to balance the temperature, he still could not get comfortable. He found himself balling his hands into fists, cursing under his breath until he could not take it anymore. With a quick silencing charm, he would scream until his voice was hoarse. 

It was only when he was exhausted, both physically and mentally, that he was able to close his eyes. No sooner would he shut them, but the events of his day would flash in his mind. Where was his father? Was he faring well? His mother, his poor mother, how much more could she take? How much more could  _ he  _ take?

No. He needed a distraction. Needed to focus on something else. Something pleasant- fucking anything. Something consuming. 

Granger.

She was probably at the Weasleys, spending her days filled with obnoxious red-heads and Potter. The idea filled his belly with fury. What would they be doing, all alone with nothing but the summer heat? Did Weasley have his hands all over her? Pawing away like an animal no doubt. The clumsy oaf probably couldn’t piece together how to unhook a bra, let alone give her an ounce of pleasure.

No. No, no, no. That couldn’t be right. He had heard before that Potter spent his summers with whatever bit of a family he had. That Granger went home to hers. He had heard her talking once, about trips and teeth. It made little sense, but it had instantly relieved him to know that she did not spend her time with those two in the summer. Most likely. 

Probably.

No, definitely. That's what he had to go with. He needed something positive. Needed to believe there was still something left for him, even if she never was his.

  
  


~.~

The Dark Lord was due to have a visit soon, at least that was the gossip around the kitchen. His mother had fretted nervously, ordering the elves from this room to the next, making them clean and re-clean every surface on the estate. 

As anxious as it made Narcissa, Bella seemed to be buzzing with energy. 

And it only made her push harder.

And kinship he had felt with her had quickly dissipated. It was clear she was self serving, though she did have some affection for her sister and nephew. All in the name of family, no matter how twisted and fucked up it was. 

  
“ Why are you incapable of doing this?!” Bellatrix screamed. It was early and Draco still felt sluggish. “Lazy like your father! No ambition! No follow through!” She punctuated each insult with a flick of her wand, the hex cutting to the bone. Draco could feel blood trickle down his forehead, dribbling down his brow. His lip was split in two, the taste of iron in his mouth. Taking the back of his hand, he tried to wipe away the fresh cuts. 

“I don’t want to fucking do this anymore.” Draco spat. He had never wanted to do it in the first place. 

“Oh, sweet Draco. You think it's a choice?” She let loose curse, one that made his body feel like glass- stiff and fragile. Draco was sure that if he made even the slightest movement he would shatter. She strode over to him with impatience.

“This is your destiny, Draco. You need to seize it! When the Dark Lord comes, he will want to know your heart is pure. Is your heart pure, Draco?”

He swallowed, trying to control his breathing. “Yes.” He answered too slowly.

“Of course it is, dear. And your mind? Free of treacherous thoughts? No ideas of rebellion rattling around that brain of yours? Scheming like your father-!”

A pain unlike anything Draco had experienced crashed through his head. He had practiced briefly with Snape- but it was nothing in comparison to this. Snape had been intrusive, poking and prodding- giving him room to defend himself. Teachable moments, perhaps. 

This was different.

Bellatrix did not poke, she shredded. It felt like a knife ripped apart every synapse, lit every thought ablaze. She turned over the images, rifled through his memories. The ones of his childhood, the anger he felt towards Potter. 

But of course, Potter lead to Granger. 

He tried to shut her out. Tried to keep her away from Hermione. But Fuck, Bellatrix was skilled and he was so weak. So fucking weak.

Filthy images, fantasies, passing glances filled Bellatrix’s mind. An obsession laid open for his aunt to see. His darkest secret, exposed to the most dangerous individual he knew. 

She would kill him now. He was certain of it. 

By the time she took her claws out of Dracos mind, she was panting. 

“That filthy mudblood?” She whispered. “That  _ filthy-”  _ She sent a curse, fire in her eyes.

_ “-little-”  _ Another, jabbing at his spine. 

“ _ Mudblood-”  _ She curled her lips in disgust as her wand slashed through the air.

“- _ Whore!”  _

He was crying, there was no use denying it. He would spend his last moments on Earth curled up in a ball. Lying in fetal position, waiting for death at his aunt's hands. 

Bellatrix crouched next to him, resting her chin on her palm. She looked furious, gritting her teeth, rage barely contained.

“This won’t do. It won’t  _ do!”  _ She screeched. “You were meant to carry on the Black name.” Her tone turned sad, remorseful. “How can you be so like Andromina? Poor Cissy, to go through this again.” 

No, not like his aunt. Not like the one that had been disowned.  _ The one better off dead. _

“I- I’m not.” He was missing a front tooth, could feel the broken bones and shattered bits in his mouth. 

“And the Dark Lord? What will he say?” She cut her eyes to her nephew. “Your mother will pay the price for this too. The Dark Lord, he’ll say our family is tainted, the seed is bad! The line full of traitors! Your mother, my dear Cissy-!” Bellatrix seemed to conveniently forget that  _ she _ was part of the line she so easily called traitorous.

“It’s, its just-” He breathed in, broken ribs stabbing. “Just an attraction.” Draco panted. “Thanks all. Aunt Bella, I, I swear.” 

She considered him for a moment, a crumpled heap of a man.

“A  _ passing _ attraction, you say?” She rolled her neck as she sucked on her bottom lip. 

“It is.” He turned to look her square in the eye. There was a moment of pause before she answered.

“That  _ better _ be all.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “Young children  _ do _ have peculiar tastes.”

“Right,” He was exhausted, utterly defeated.

“I remember when I was in school, some of the questionable boys I found cute. No accounting for taste in these years, you know.” 

“You’re ri-right Aunt Bella. It’s- its nothing serious.” 

“If it’s nothing serious, then it’s nothing to trouble the Dark Lord over.” She said quickly. 

“Y-Yes, Aunt Bella.”

She nodded, as if listening to him from far away. 

“We’ll just have to train all the harder. Won't we, love?” 

~.~

As Draco nursed the bones he was currently regrowing, he wondered if Hermione would have like the manor. Before his aunt, before the wild creatures had taken over it.

He wondered if she would have liked the garden, would have minded the peacocks. He drifted to sleep, dreaming over Hermione Granger on his broomstick. Hugging him tight, hugging him close. 

~.~

The day the Dark Lord had come had been surprisingly cheerful. Bellatrix had been away since the night before, so he was out from under his thumb. He had taken an early breakfast with his mother, now accustomed to being awakened before the sun even rose. After a light breakfast, he had retreated to the library, found a book he had been meaning to read, and drifted off to sleep in the plush leather arm chair. It had been the time he had slept well since he had arrived home.

A loud pop had awakened him. An elf cleared its throat, announcing his arrival. 

“Master Draco is needed in the dining room.” He wrung his hands nervously around his shirt. Even the elves had not escaped the wrath of their new guests. 

“Thank you.” He sighed heavily, not ready to leave. Not ready to give up on his dream of normalcy. 

This had been typical for him, had been his everyday once. Now it was nothing more than a vacation from his daily life. Misery was his new normal. 

“Master Draco must come quickly!” The elves' voice lowered. “Misses says it's urgent.” 

Draco stood and pushed open the heavy oak doors and walked towards the dining room. 

Voldermort was waiting. 

  
  



End file.
